Triumph
by thequeenwillruletheboard
Summary: The shitty air conditioning unit outside Sango's apartment door blows haphazardly through the cardboard slab she calls a front door. Unlike her lack of a front door, the case she's been working does cause her uneasiness. Something about this whole situation really strikes her as familiar and foreboding, but she hasn't yet figured out why.


**AN:** This is my MiroSanta piece for 2015: "MirSanNar." It's written for my good friend narqueen dot tumblr dot com. I know your request said "No AUs," but you've been asking me for this Jessica Jones AU for weeks.

Yes, I did get you into the show so I could write this for you. I'm sorry. I love you.

 **Pairing:** Miroku/Sango/Naraku

 **Warning:** Explicit Sexual Content, references to sexual and emotional abuse, alcohol, swearing

* * *

Triumph

The shitty air conditioning unit outside Sango's apartment door blows haphazardly through the cardboard slab she calls a front door. The last time she checked her phone, it had been somewhere past one in the morning. Her laptop's bright screen illuminates her pale face, and her eyes strain to read the windows of research she pulled up for her latest case. Taking a breath and raising her glass of sake, she presses the home button on her phone to check for messages.

Two texts from her best friend, Kagome, light up on her screen: "Hey, I hope you're doing okay. Call me back for once?" and "Nevermind. Please just take care of yourself."

Sango tosses the phone aside and sighs, sipping her sake. _Take care of yourself_. She's doing a damn fine job of that. Sort of. The front door is missing, but fuck if she needs one in the first place.

Unlike her lack of a front door, the case she's been working does cause her uneasiness. A young woman had gone missing a month ago, or so her father claimed. As Sango scrolls through the girl's Facebook page, she finds pictures upon pictures of her mid-stance, holding her fists up with strength and poise. She looks down at the creased photograph sitting on her desk and lightly taps it with her fingers. _Rin,_ she sighs. Something about this whole situation really strikes her as familiar and foreboding, but she hasn't yet figured out why.

A few minutes later, the arguing from her upstairs neighbors starts just like it does every night, and her throat allows a guttural growl to escape past her lips. "Fuck, can these people ever just _shut up?_ " Storming into the bedroom, she grabs a shoe off the floor and vaults it at the ceiling, leaving a sizeable hole. "Try being quiet for once, huh?" She winces at the sound her own voice makes, and slumps down on her bed. The neighbors fall silent. Laying on her side, she curls up and grabs the bottle of sake she keeps handy next to her bed.

Her eyes just barely flutter closed when she hears a soft rap on the door. With a heaving sigh, she sits up and trudges to the entryway, and cracks it open. Upon recognizing her guest she says, "You know this door is never locked, Kikyou. Why do you keep knocking?"

"Because it's rude to just come in," Kikyou shrugged, her satin slip pulled taut around her shoulders. "Maybe you wouldn't know that."

Sango rolls her eyes, "I guess I just don't give a damn."

"Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for my sister and I again. We haven't been getting along recently, and it just gets out of hand…" Kikyou trails off and looks over her shoulder, grey eyes scanning the walls as she loses herself in contemplation.

"Well, thanks. Just keep it down?" Sango shifts on her feet uncomfortably. As much as she doesn't mind Kikyou, these spaced-out episodes happen fairly often, and tonight isn't the night Sango wants to deal with it.

After a moment, Kikyou returns to the conversation, and nods. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry. Goodnight." She turns and walks back to the stairs on the other end of the corridor as her next-door neighbor Kagura turns the corner and makes a lopsided attempt to find her apartment. Sango rolls her eyes and closes the door on them both.

Sango swears she just barely closed the door when she hears a squabble outside, and she drops her forehead against the wooden frame before taking a breath and pulling it open again. She's surprised to find three people in the hallway instead of two, and she's equally surprised to find them all in an argument. "Kagura?" She asks, deciding to deal with this situation one person at a time.

Kagura looks away from the other two, barely focusing her gaze on Sango. "Hey there, neighbor." She holds her key ring loosely in her hand and keeps swinging it back and forth as she rocks on her heels. "I was trying to get into my apartment, and then they started shouting…"

Sango takes the keys from Kagura and unlocks her front door, swinging it wide open. "It's okay, Kagura. I'll take care of it. Just go sleep it off – you're flying pretty high right now." Lightly, Sango nudges Kagura into her mess of an apartment and watches as she sinks onto the worn couch, then locks the door and shuts it behind her after she tosses the keys on the front table. She can feel the gaze of the others penetrating her back and shakes her head before turning around.

Miroku stands with his arms crossed, keeping a focused eye on the situation. He's dressed in his stiff leather jacket and heavy denim jeans, and his stance is every bit as rigid as his wardrobe. Every few seconds, he shifts his gaze to Kikyou and then back to her, almost defensively. Kikyo's hands rest on her hips, angling her weight away from Miroku. "Sango, do you know this man? He was looking for you."

Sango nods and waves her off, "Yeah, he's a friend. It's alright."

Kikyou glances over at him, pulling her hair over one shoulder and fussing with the end of her long sleeves. "If you're sure…"

"I'm sure, Kikyou. I'll see you tomorrow."

Kikyou straightens her posture and nods. "Goodnight, then." Casting one last look at both of them, she turns the corner and makes her way upstairs. Sango rolls her eyes. She has no idea how she managed to earn the protectiveness of her upstairs neighbor, especially when she's reclusive at best, and disruptive at the worst.

After Kikyou disappears beyond the threshold of the stairs, she turns to Miroku. "What are you doing here?"

"You left my bar fairly rapidly last night, and I was hoping I'd get to talk to you," he says quietly.

Sango sighs and nods. "Fine, come in." She walks back into her apartment, waving for him to follow her. His heavy footsteps carry him loudly across the weak hardwood floors behind her. Suddenly, she has an unwelcome thought about the sorry state of her apartment, but she squashes it into the back of her brain against the cage where _he_ lives. When she reaches her desk, she pours them both a glass of sake each and downs her own immediately.

Miroku perches himself on the edge of her desk and scoops up the second glass, taking a sip. "I have better sake at the bar."

"I believe that was the premise of our first conversation." She grins up at him, taking a seat in her desk chair.

He laughs and nods, "That's true… But that's not what I came here to talk to you about."

A sense of dread sinks into the pit of Sango's stomach. "Then what did you come here to talk about?"

He sets his glass down and rubs his thighs then takes a breath and looks her in the eye. "You threw a grown man over my bar with one hand."

Sango, prepared for this, shakes her head. "You're exaggerating. I just held my own in a fight."

He clenches his fists, and the leather of his fingerless glove creaks as it pulls taut over his skin. "I know what I saw, Sango. That wasn't 'holding your own.' You got into a fight with four men and walked out standing."

Keeping her eyes on the wall just past him, she shrugs. "The adrenaline must have done it, I guess."

"Don't insult my intelligence, Sango. I know better than to think adrenaline could have done that." He picks up the glass of sake he abandoned, and contemplates it momentarily before throwing it easily down his throat.

Sango narrows her eyes and leans forward in her chair, propping her arms firmly against the desktop. "What about you, huh? You got stabbed in the neck!"

Miroku nods, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I did, yes."

"But you're still standing here," she presses. "You're not dead."

The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and he murmurs, "It was the adrenaline, I guess."

She frowns and crosses her arms, and mockingly retorts, "Don't insult my intelligence, Miroku."

He laughs again, this time full and warm, and she has to stop herself from allowing her affection for him to bubble up to the front of her brain. "That's fair," he says. "I came prepared."

From his jacket pocket, he procures a pocketknife and what appears to be an ordinary apple. He sets the apple on her desk and cleanly slices through it. As it falls neatly into halves in front of her, he turns it in on himself and lifts his shirt before pulling it across his skin with apparent force.

"No! What the fu––" Sango trails off when she notices that his skin remains intact, despite the slicing and dicing Miroku tried to accomplish.

With a resigned smile he holds up his hands after closing the knife and shakes his head. "Nothing," he says.

Sango sits for a moment, the truth clicking into place inside her head. He has unbreakable skin… A hidden power, not unlike her own strength. "You… You're like me…" she whispers incredulously.

He nods. "Yes."

Slowly, incrementally, as though he's going to vanish or run, she stands from her chair and moves in between his legs that are dangling off the side of her desk. With one hand, she hooks the hem of his shirt and pulls it to well above his pectorals, holding it steady at his collar bone. With her right hand, she plucks the pocketknife from his fingers and flicks it open. "Nothing?" she asks, lightly drawing it across his chest.

With bated breath, he answers. "Nothing."

She pulls it back and uses her full force to lodge the blade in his shoulder, but it bends instead, and she recoils. She stares at it for a moment and then drops it to the floor, looking up into his face, wide-eyed. His violet eyes hold her gaze for a moment, and she can feel his left side tense up as he surveys the damage she didn't inflict on his flesh. She takes account of the moment as chest expands beneath her fingertips when he inhales, and the next moment his lips are on hers when he realizes they're both still standing there.

She freezes, taken by surprise, and her breath catches in her lungs when her eyes close and _she's standing in the hotel room instead_ – Miroku's hands wander to her waist – _the grip is too tight_ – no, it's _just right_ and she kisses him back, her hands clasping around the collar of his jacket and pulling him off the desk into a standing position. He uses his newfound leverage to cup his hands under her ass and lift her up, turning them around to set her on the desk.

She pushes the jacket down off of his shoulders, then wraps her arms around his neck and relishes in the broad reality of his body; there's someone to press up against. Her hands find their way into his hair, pulling the tie in his hair loose and letting it fall into a curtain around his face, and her tongue darted out to his lips to part them. One of Miroku's hands dug into her waist, and the gloved hand wove into her hair, pulling it back to arch her jaw up so he could begin a line of nibbles up her jawline. Sango felt her breathing strain every time his teeth scraped against her skin, and the self-loathing saturated her as her body screamed for him to bite harder and pull tighter.

Impatiently, she yanks at the bottom of his shirt, but it gets caught between them and around his broad shoulders. She growls irritatedly and grabs the dark fabric with both hands, ripping it in half. Miroku pauses and chuckles, and when she looks up at him, he's grinning and he leans down, starting from where the hem of her shirt falls, and begins kissing up the seam of her stomach as he lifts her shirt up toward her shoulders. Sango lets her head fall back, feeling her muscles tense up as he dusts her skin with his mouth. When he works her shirt up high enough, she lifts it over her head and throws it away, and before she can look back to him, his tongue traces her collarbones in small circles; she lets him for a moment before grabbing him by the hair and pulling his face up to kiss his lips again, something she thinks she might find herself addicted to.

She squirms, wrapping her legs around his waist and tugging him in closer to her, and she can feel him grin against her mouth as his hand slips between her thighs, and she eagerly presses herself into it, craving the friction – _he's pushing her back onto the table by her shoulder and it's too rough and it hurts but she's in love_ – his lips tenderly find her neck – _the kisses turn into bites as his hand grates into her pubic bone and she writhes under the pressure, under the pain_ – she writhes against Miroku's pleasuring touch. She opens his eyes to see his face, and startled, she throws his wrist away from her.

With her strength, she throws him backwards against the wall adjacent to the desk, quickly pinning his arms above him and kissing him roughly. He needs to make a bigger impression on her skin if he's ever going to win and she knows it, so she pushes him and prays that he'll rise to the challenge. To her relief, he kisses her back and forces their hands down off the wall, grabbing her with no gentility this time, drawing her into him.

A shiver runs down her spine – _a finger draws up each vertebrae slowly from an invisible hand behind her, and when she turns around he is_ – she grabs Miroku by the shoulders and switches their places, pressing herself up against the wall and erasing the fingerprints lingering on her back. He bows his head down to kiss the tops of her breasts, and his hands wind behind her to fiddle with her bra clasp to pull the garment off her. In return, her hands work down and reach for the buttons on his jeans, and when she can't pull them free, she pops a button clean off and unzips them, letting them fall around his ankles. Her mouth finds the smooth skin of his neck and kisses it in erratic patterns, and he moves closer into her to give her better access as a groan slips from between his teeth. When that doesn't work, his hands find the back of her thighs and he lifts her up, propping her between his hips and the wall. With a better vantage point, her ministrations on his neck become more deliberate, and she wraps her legs around him and hoists herself up higher, determined to let Miroku overtake all the orifices of her brain and leave no room for anyone else. He lets her continue her attentions to his neck and he cups her breasts in his hands, kneading them and working them meticulously. Sango, shuddering under his hands, grips the edge of the doorway for support, and drops her head back against the wall.

Miroku, taking advantage of the bared skin, presses his lips against the base of her neck and teasingly uses his tongue to make his way back up to her jawline – _a fat, wet tongue slobbers on her neck and she shivers in disgust but he asks: "You like that, don't you?"_ – the only sound he makes is the labored breathing in her ear as his lips find her earlobe – _"Yes," she answers quickly, so he cannot coerce her lips into betraying the truth, and he does the same thing with his tongue again and she keeps herself still_ – she cannot stop herself from squirming when he hits the sweet spot behind her ear. He laughs as he realizes what he's done and he moves to do it again but his laugh – _his laugh_ – crawls beneath her skin and she wrenches him away by his shoulders.

"Bedroom?" she says throatily, incapable of a full voice, and points further into the apartment.

He nods, and slips his hands beneath her thighs again to carry her back into her bedroom, and she nips at his jaw as he does so, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him as close as possible. As he reaches the mattress, he sets her on her back and kisses her again, fumbling blindly to unbutton her pants and even the playing field. Sango pushes at them as soon as he's finished, and kicks them off onto the floor.

She scoots back to allow him room to crawl onto the bed after her, and he does, propping himself up on his forearms and letting his hips drop to meet hers. Layers of cloth still between them, he begins to rock them into the mattress – _the knee-jerk movements against her pelvis are unpredictable and uncomfortable but she returns them and hopes he can match her in rhythm_ – their pace syncs up and Miroku finds a spot that sends a spark all the way into her fingers – _they find some strange middle ground and the teasing sensation is actually working and she hates every second_ – his hand pins her arm above her and uses his tongue to swirl in circles around her nipples and her back arches – _the hand gripping her wrist leaves a mark and she can feel it long before she sees it but he grinds into her harder and faster and her breath gets trapped somewhere in her trachea as it builds_ – the gasp that falls out of her mouth is in surprise, but she buries it beneath pleasure and hopes it's passable.

Colors flash within her eyes when a large breath of oxygen finally breaks through to her lungs and severs the bond to _him_ in her brain, at least temporarily. She smiles at Miroku, who looks down at her quizzically and she shakes her head to appease him. Sitting up to kiss his collarbones, she allows her hands to roam over his chest and back, tracing his muscle lines. She grins and uses this moment of quiet to wrap her leg around his and flip them over. His wide-eyed expression of incredulity causes her to laugh proudly, and she straddles him easily and slides her hips back and forth a couple of times before getting frustrated and lifting herself up onto her knees to pull his boxer-briefs down from his waist to his mid-thighs, and she lowers herself back down slowly.

Miroku languidly releases his breath at the contact to his now-bare skin and she arches herself back into his legs that are propped up behind her as she begins an excruciatingly slow ride, his erection pressing against her clothed vulva – _"This is fun," he laughs. "My little cowgirl."_ – wincing, she leans forward and grabs a hold of Miroku's arms, squeezing them tightly. Miroku doesn't stop moving, his eyes closed as he arches his shoulders back into her stiff mattress. Sango releases his arms and places her palms gently on his chest as she stops rocking, and leans down to kiss him again, lifting one of her legs to sit neatly in between his thighs.

He seems to regain his composure and he sits up, using one arm as support, and sliding his gloved right hand down her back and rests it for a moment on the curve of her ass, then he slips it around front and beneath the waistband of her underwear. Sango exhaled sharply as his fingers winds circles around her clit – _his middle and ring fingers slip in and out of her, making a come-hither motion, and she can feel his penis against her as he holds her flush against his front by her neck, his long black hair falling over her shoulder and tangling in hers –_ and she circles her hips along with his fingers, all the muscles tightening in her abdomen – _"You're getting close?" he says, "Hold it in," and she has no choice –_ and she arches her back and laughs in ecstasy and triumph as she clenches around Miroku's fingers, riding them until she can't anymore. Breathing heavily, she rests her arms and forehead on his chest and takes a moment to regain her breath capacity.

Miroku wraps both of his arms around her, pulling her hair from its low ponytail as she takes several deep breaths, and she leans up to kiss him again, and it's the gentlest kiss they've ever shared. She starts to lift herself, slipping her leg over him to resume her straddling position when he rolls her back over onto her back. "Sango, you look exhausted."

She frowns, "But you didn't…"

He shakes his head, "We'll save it for next time."

"Next time, huh?" She smiles. "That's presumptuous."

"Well, then I'll just live disappointed…" He smirks down at her, drawing circles on her shoulder with his fingers.

She rolls her eyes. "Can I ask something?"

"Sure."

"Why do you wear that glove?" she asks, plucking it off of his chest and playing with his fingers.

He reaches around her, "I'll show you." Hooking the bottom of the glove, he lifts it to his knuckles, revealing a large hole in the middle of his palm.

"What the hell is that?" she asks, narrowing her eyes. "Um, sorry…"

"No, that's an appropriate reaction. I got into an accident four years ago, and when I woke up I had a peep-hole in my hand and unbreakable skin everywhere else… The doctors said it was impaled and it just healed… But I was asleep for days. I have no way of knowing what they did to me."

"Oh. That's… not fun." She says, unsure of what else to say.

"No, it's not," he replies, replacing his glove over the injury.

They fall into silence, and Sango sighs, squirming under his arm. She wonders how the morning will be and what she's supposed to do with the man in her bed. Make him leave, probably. She closed her eyes and let his warm chest lull her into sleep.

The phone buzzed loudly from the desk in the living room, rousing Sango from her comfortable place against Miroku. She groaned and pushed herself up, finding a t-shirt on the floor and throwing it on. Reading the caller ID, she scoffs and presses the green button. "Tsubaki, the reason I work in the middle of the night is so no one answers the phone."

"Sango, I called you. Besides, it's urgent," even the phone microphone couldn't dilute Tsubaki's condescending tone.

"Coming from you, that's never a good thing," Sango growls.

"I need you to come in," Tsubaki continues. "I've got a job for you."

Sango sighs, something she knows she'll be doing all morning with Tsubaki. "I'll be in soon." She hangs up the phone, collecting Miroku's clothes along the way and shuffling back into her bedroom. "Hey, Miroku!" She throws his clothes onto his bare chest, and the force jolts him awake. "I've got to go to work, and you have to leave."

"What time is it?" he asks.

"It doesn't matter. It's time for you to leave." She pulls her boots and jeans on, and throws her jacket around her shoulders. "When I get home you won't be here. Don't worry about locking the door. It doesn't matter."

"Wow. You're full of reason this morning…" He groans, rolling over.

"Well, it's been fun. I'm leaving," she throws her bag with her camera over her shoulder. "I'll see you around." She walks to her front door, not allowing herself to look back at him as she walks out the door and down the hallway.

When she reaches the corner, she does look back at the door. She sees a shadow looming, lurking, long-haired and imposing, and she thinks _I love you_ before she can stop herself. She nods to herself, as this is how her world should be, and continues her walk down the corridor.


End file.
